Firstly a sad
note: the Books for Free space in Stratford, which gave me faith in mankind
just a week ago, is now about to close down. Needless to say, my faith in
mankind is vacillating (probably also because the rules for my application for
British naturalization are changing, and that means that I have to again start
the process essentially from zero).
Moving on to American Psycho: I was reading this book
on the tube and feeling really rather ashamed (not embarrassed, ashamed). One
thing is the glorification and aestheticization of violence, but this is just
gratuitous (and fairly disgusting). And when the author isn’t talking about chopped
limbs and tortured people, he is talking about matching his Fratelli Rossetti
shoes with Ermenegildo Zegna trousers – not exactly the most exciting topic of
discussion for a guy who would love to spend his life in jeans and t-shirt.
Bateman is meant to be Psycho’s
Norman Bates's heir, but falls so very short (and also lacks any kind of self-criticism:
how can a guy who despises homeless people so much love Phil Collins, the
author of Another Day in Paradise?!?)…
Most of all, I
am not quite sure if Ellis meant to highlight the protagonist’s mental self-destruction
or if he just has no idea what he is talking about, but reading about the
Beatles’ You Can’t Always Get What You
Want is just too painful to describe. Because of The Big Chill I often say I’d like that song played at my funeral,
but I’d like to think that, no matter how old and senile I will get, I will
never think that Lennon and McCartney wrote the song.
